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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482005">Always Have, Always Will</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_Damn_its_Kam/pseuds/Hot_Damn_its_Kam'>Hot_Damn_its_Kam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Am Not Your Protagonist (Lams OCD Verse) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Basically John has OCD and his boyfriend is a DiCk about it, Emotional/Verbal Abuse TW, Eventual Lams, M/M, OCD, Self-Projecting Author</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:20:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,019</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27482005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_Damn_its_Kam/pseuds/Hot_Damn_its_Kam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and John are close friends, but when John reveals a part of himself that Alexander was not akin to, Alex begins to notice little things. Things he didn't notice before. Like how people treat John, knowing he's different. Or habits John has that can be attributed to his illness. And that John's boyfriend doesn't seem to be the nicest guy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Francis Kinloch (1755–1826)/John Laurens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Am Not Your Protagonist (Lams OCD Verse) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Confessions and Garlic Naan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey! I just wanted to preface this with a quick note: As someone with OCD, I understand that it can be very personal and specific and <i>very</i>  different for everyone. This is drawn from my experiences with obsessions and compulsions, along with the experiences I have with the way people treated me because of it. This is not in any way, shape, or form, any of the following:</p><p>- A replacement for a diagnosis (but if you are experiencing any of these symptoms, I encourage you to seek help!)<br/>- An "all-encompassing" or "end-all be-all" description of the experience of someone with OCD<br/>- A place for any form of hate, invalidation, or anything of the like toward me or anyone else. Period. </p><p> </p><p>It is these:<br/>- A recounting/expression of experiences I have had told through a group of characters<br/>- A safe place for people who have similar experiences to commune or simply read and feel seen<br/>- A hopefully informative piece that ANYONE is welcome to read!<br/>- Written for informative and entertainment purposes; enjoy if possible!! That's what it's here for!</p><p> </p><p>That said! Here are the trigger warnings for this fic (if new/specific ones appear, I will add them to that specific chapter, but I will not continue to repost these for every single chapter mostly cuz I'm lazy and it's kinda exhausting)</p><p>- OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder)<br/>- Panic/Anxiety Attacks<br/>- Domestic Abuse<br/>- Verbal/Emotional Abuse in a Relationship Setting<br/>- Some Obsessions/Compulsions Contain Acts that can be considered/perceived as Self-Harm</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>Alex hated that John was different now.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It made him sick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It sickened him how much Francis had scared him into this... husk.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This nervous, silent, sleepy version of himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This wasn't John.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>This was Francis' plaything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Three Months Earlier</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey Jack, are we wanting leftover ravioli or am I gonna have to order something?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex peeked his head up from behind the refrigerator, catching a glimpse of John staring off, his face twisted into an expression of disgust.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Neither, then?" Alex chuckled, slamming the fridge door a little too hard, causing John to snap out of whatever daze he'd been in.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ravioli or takeout?" Alex asked again, his voice lilting up, concerned.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Oh, uh... doesn't matter to me," John said, gulping. Yeah something was off.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex made his way over to the couch, "What's the matter?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Just ah... Tired's all."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex crossed his arms, incredulous.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John's phone buzzed then, and he rushed to pick it up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"That your man?" Alex teased, receiving a small not of confirmation.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If Alex were honest, he never really liked Francis all that much. He'd met only a few times, but he never wanted to come around John's friends, and was kind of standoffish from what he could tell. Here's what he did know: Francis had a scrunched up, mousy face and permanently greasy hair; he had a bad attitude and a potty mouth; he was blunt and rough. Not at all someone Alex would consider John's "type" by any means, but John seemed to be happy for a while. But John almost never talked about him anymore, except when he was jumpy like this.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What's he need?" Alex asked, strolling back to his kitchen, looking around for a takeout menu (he sort of wanted to save that ravioli for his lunch tomorrow and didn't feel like sharing it).</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Nothing."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex looked at him again, quirking a brow, "You okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah, why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex dug an Indian menu from the drawer and scanned it, "You're quiet. Giving one word answers 'n' shit. I know you better than that, what's bugging you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John sort of slumped a little, defeated, knowing he'd been found out.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I forgot to call to refill my prescription..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex blanched. They never talked about this. He knew John took SSRIs, though he never surely confirmed what for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you going to be okay?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John closed his eyes and nodded, confident, "Yeah, just... not feeling my best."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Do you need to call the pharmacy? Or a ride? You're not going to, like, collapse on my floor are you?!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John laughed at that, letting Alex's racing heart slow just a bit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No, nothing that. Just um... out of it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex's eyes went soft, "Anything I can do?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John shook his head, "No. Thanks though."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex nodded, smiling, "So is Francis gonna grab that for you?" he asked, more trying to get a feel for how John would react than wanting the answer to his query.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John's face scrunched as if he'd smelled something rancid.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alright, haaaard pass on Francis then..." Alex said, tossing him the menu, "What do you want to eat?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Butter Paneer and Garlic Naan," John replies quickly, not even giving the menu a glance.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex snorted, making the call.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>As they waited, Alex turned on some game show in the TV, and he noticed John rubbing his hands together. Or at least that's what it looked like to start with. The more he watched John's hands, it became more evident that John was pressing his thumb between the knuckles on the palm of his other hand, his lips making shaping syllables, <em>numbers.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John caught him staring.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They locked eyes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John's whole body went rigid with fear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Panic.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Immediately John's hands went to fists, his eyes wide and glazed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex felt the need to apologize, though he didn't know what for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey. Everything okay? I didn't mean to-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm fine. It's fine."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I— John are you sure? You look like you’re about to cry and I just— if I did something please tell me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John just shook his head, partially because if he spoke, he probably <em>would</em>  cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex tried not to stare, but he wanted to help. He needed to. He'd caused John this distress, "What can I do? Seriously I’ll, I don’t know I’ll dress in drag and dance the Hula." He cut to humor, to try and get John to refocus or laugh or something other than cry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John opened his mouth to answer, tears rushing to his eyes. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a sob.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex abandoned the comedy routine and popped up from where he was sitting to move closer, "Are you okay? Do you want me to take you home? You seem upset"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John shook his head violently, "No, no please. God, please don't make me go home..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Okay. That's fine, you're welcome to stay, just...” he paused, trying to collect his racing thoughts as they buzzed by, John was really worrying him. Alex for once, didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don't know what's going or-or how to help and you're really freaking me out. I just wanna make sure you’re okay, and safe." Alex said, his voice soft but steady. Sure. Grounding.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John looked around the room, avoiding any eye contact, "Umm..." He hummed, his voice watery, wavering, "I-I uh... I... God, it's really hard to explain."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I have all the time in the world."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know how to without you thinking I'm some kind of... of freak."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex smiled, "I thought you were a freak the day I met you. That's why we get along so well."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John tried to return the smile, but it came out as a grimace.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Whenever you're ready, I’ll be here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John took a breath. Then another. Alex could see the calculations in his head, him trying to put the right words together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Fortunately (for John, anyway), the doorbell rang with the food delivery, and Alex jogged up to get it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He let John gather his thoughts as he sorted and plated the food.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>When he returned with a pair of TV trays and bowls of sauce, plates of rice and bread, John seemed to have gathered his emotions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex sat patiently, stirring curry into his rice.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I have OCD," John said, the words coming out steadier and sure-er than he looked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex paused, digesting the information, nodding after a moment "Okay..." he prompted John to continue.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John's leg bounced, "Um... and It-it's not like what you see on TV. At least, not all of it... Like, I'm not the organizational, 'squeaky-clean' type. Not really. I mean when I was a kid I would practically scrub the skin off my hands but not anymore. I mean sometimes I have to tidy things but I think that's more neurosis than anything. It more like... like intrusive? Or... God, I sound like an idiot," He says, exasperated. He looks up at Alex, whos eyes are gentle and kind, listening, waiting.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Like... Sometimes I'll just be going about my day, doing normal stuff and then I'll get a really nasty mental image? Sometimes they're really... graphic. In a sort of... adult. Way. Or sometimes they're really um... violent? <em>Not that's it's something that I want to do to someone it's not like that I promise I'm not a fucking murderer or anything-</em>" Alex places a hand on his shoulder, staying him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Hey, I understand, you don't need to explain yourself, okay? I understand. Keep going."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John gulps, then clears his throat, "Okay. Um. They're like... Here's a way of putting it: It's like those jumpscare videos, the ones that look like calm videos but then they have a zombie face? Or when you're just browsing on streaming websites and you get a random porn ad. It's... it's sort of like that."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex nods. <em>Good,</em>  John thinks, <em>it's making sense.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And other times it's less images and more... not voices. But um... thoughts. Like 'did you turn the stove off? Are you sure. Because the entire building could burn down and take you along with every other resident with it. Better go double check. You did? Oh, go check again or you'll <em>fucking die.'</em> " John drops his face into his hands, "Oh god I'm fucking crazy-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No. Stop. Stop.“ Alex says as he rubs Johns back gently.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You're not crazy, i just don't understand because... I don't know what that's like, you know? We all have individual experiences, you don’t know what my experiences are like, and I don’t know yours. Not because it's any less normal, but different. It’s okay.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John looks unconvinced, "Are you sure you want to hear more?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'll hear whatever you tell me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John nodded. Took a moment. Had a few chunks of Paneer off his place before it went completely cold.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"So... sometimes those thoughts are... semi-rational. Like the stove one. But sometimes I get really, really scared that something bad is going to happen to the people I care about? Which is why I'll kind of obsessively text and call and check in. Because something terrible is going to happen. And I know, deep down, that it won't. I <em>know</em>  that, but I just... <em>what if does?</em> You know? What if it does? That's why I was so worried about um... worried about Francis answering the phone."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"And he's okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John's face goes from nervous to frustrated, almost, "Oh. He's fine. Just dandy."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Trouble in paradise?</em>  Alex shut his mouth before he said it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But John read his face, "Um, yeah no he's um. Being a little... weird. About it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"About what?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The... the OCD thing."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Really?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John let out a breath, puffing his cheeks. Scratched his cheek, "I mean yeah. This not the easiest thing to handle. Especially with a partner. I get where he's coming from-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Did he say something to you?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John blinked, thought back to a few weeks earlier, when he'd had his conversation with Francis. The things he'd said.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"So I'm dating a psychopath?!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"No! It's not like that at all!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Okay but the weird sexual images thing? That has to be some kind of serial killer pre-requisite."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"No. I don't want to do those things. I told you-"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Oh my god, do you think those things about ME?!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Not on purpose!"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"What the fuck?! I literally can't believe you'd want to do that to me..."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"You're not listening. I </em>
    <b>
      <em>don't</em>
    </b>
    <em> want to do </em>
    <b>
      <em>any</em>
    </b>
    <em> of those things. It's a mental illness. Not a fetish."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Yeah no kidding. You're really fucking sick, huh?"</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Francis..."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>"Shut up."</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"He didn't take it well."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex looked pissed, the spark of anger in his eyes could almost make John laugh if it were any other day. "If he does anything- and I mean anything, to you, you tell me. Okay? Have you told anyone else?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Laf and Herc know. I wasn't medicated until after I graduated High School. So those um... habits... weren't very well managed. I wasn't going to therapy or anything like that yet, so it was pretty inevitable that they would find out. It interfered with everything. I couldn't go anywhere, do anything, without the possibility of a meltdown, or a panic attack, I was constantly spiraling. So... they know."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex nodded, "Okay. Well, you're still my best friend okay? I hope you know that. This is just one more thing I get to know about you, and I'll do some research. I want to help where I can, you know?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John smiled wide, "Thank you."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Of course."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>That was three months ago. And things had just continued to spiral. Like it had before.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John was not the type to melt down in public. He would almost always. without fail, find a quiet corner, a bathroom, a car, something.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>But now he could barely go in public without something setting him off, if he even went out at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>No one had really heard much from him in days. Or from Francis for that matter.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Lafayette had dropped groceries off yesterday, the house was silent, but completely pristine. It didn't smell like cleaner, not like it had been scrubbed. More like it had been tidied. And no one had touched it for days. He found John napping in the bedroom, Francis lying next to him watching TV.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Why wasn't Francis buying groceries?</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex felt sick when Laf recounted it to him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He decided to stop by for himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stood outside the apartment door, Francis' loud, barking voice, and soft, meek replies alarming him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex opened the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Discovery on the Bathroom Floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <b>Flashback to highschool, Senior year</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Front one two three back one two three Front one two three back one two three Front one two three back one two three Front one two three back one two three f o u r - shit</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John stopped rocking, catching a glimpse of what distracted him. Hercules was crouched before him, saying... something. The roaring of <em>you'll kill him you'll kill him you'll kill him</em> too loud in his ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>crazy fucking snake. you'll snap at any second and you know it. what will you do then?</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"N-o..." John croaked, his voice breaking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"John what <em>happened?</em> Can you stand? Are you hurt?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No! Get-get back don't don't-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hercules' frown deepened, "Did someone hurt you? Do I need to get the nurse? You're so pale-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't wanna hurt you..." John whispered, "I promise I won't I promise, please, please..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"What? Hurt- hurt me? John you're talking nonsense."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John looked up at him now, restarting his rocking <em>one two three</em>, "Hm?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm getting the nurse."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No! No, don't I'm fine!" John rushed, stopping again, no matter how much it burned his insides.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Clearly," Hercules muttered incredulously.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John clenched his shaking hand, then relaxed it, "I'm fine I promise. Just... if you get her she'll call my dad. And he'll get angry."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hercules stared in amazement at this switch-flip. One moment John's rocking and crying on the bathroom floor, next he's speaking in calm, steady words.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Okay. I won't... I won't do it as long as you tell me what the hell happened here."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John looked down, ashamed, "I wish I knew..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you seeing somebody?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Who would take me to see somebody Hercules?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hercules huffed, "You were practically a puddle, John. And this isn't the first thing I've noticed! Your nails? They're practically all scab at this point! And Laf said you're always counting 'n stuff? I'm just worried. We all are."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John couldn't tell if he was hurt or weirdly happy that his friends had noticed these things. That they had <em>cared</em>  about it at all. Cared about <em>him</em>  at all.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I don't know what's wrong with me Hercules. Okay? I know I'm fucking messed up but I don't know what is messing with me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hercules sighed, pitying him, "Well, do you wanna head back? Or... do you want me to leave?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John stood up then, not answering, and washed his hands. "How long till the bell?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Hercules checked his watched, " 'Bout 25 minutes. Why?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Let's head back."</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please leave a comment! I love hearing your feedback!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. a first date - 2018</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>keeping with the flashback theme here! these are in no particular order unless otherwise specified</p><p>TW: Intrusive Thoughts (violent)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>
    <b>A First Date: 2018</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John let out a big breath, his cheeks puffing out with the pressure, and studied his reflection. Not a curl out of place. He liked that he looked pretty. He eyed the comb on the dresser, his body tensing with the weight of resistance. He made work of busying his hands with other things: adjusting his shirt, dusting off the dresser. He swallowed once. Twice. Then reached for it, tearing out the pins keeping chunks of hair from his face and ran the wide teeth of the comb through each and every section in sixths- three on each side, each in three individual strokes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He stuck the pins back in, his hair a little more frizzy than before. He didn't feel the need to do much about it. It looked fine. Sure it was <em>perfect</em>  before but now he wouldn't smash the car because he missed a knot. Another cheek-puffing breath, and he was out the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John loved Autumn. Loved that it was just cold enough to be warm but still look well-dressed (and not like a puffy, waddling penguin). Loved that the sun set earlier in the day. Made dates seem more late-night-rom-com-esque without staying up into the early hours of the morning. Love that he could feel the cool air enter his lungs as he breathed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His teeth chattered as he approached the restaurant, his arms pulled tightly to his body. Then he saw him. Francis and his messy, pretty, dirty blond hair. John's walk quickly sped up as Francis stopped leaning on the wall and met him halfway.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Sorry, took longer getting ready than I meant to. Were you waiting long?" John asked, as Francis popped a kiss on his forehead. Thankfully his cheeks were red enough from the cold that they cover his blush. PDA was still new. He liked it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not at all-" John couldn't tell the difference between courtesy and honesty, "I actually just got here. Let's go inside, you're shivering."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John smiled. They'd only been together a little more than a month, but he was falling hard. Francis always seemed to care, always giving him so much affection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The little Thai restaurant was quaint, with its dim lighting and oddly un-matching décor. They ordered drinks, chatted about work and family. "My sister just got accepted  to UPenn ," Francis said over his menu.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah? That's awesome! I'll bet she's excited," John replied, his menu log abandoned after deciding what he wanted earlier that afternoon.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yeah," Francis said, his tone not quite fitting the conversation John felt, "Yale was her first choice though. Waitlisted."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John swallowed, tapping his foot. He cringed internally at the privilege that sentence was soaked in. "That's an amazing opportunity."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He could see Francis roll his eyes as he plopped the menu onto the table and sipped his coke, "My dad's not shutting up about it. 'I'm sure you could've done more Mary' yadda yadda..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John  didn't like where this conversation was going. He peered at the strange horse clock on the wall. 7:48. He cleared his throat, aiming for humor, "Gotta love southern fathers."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis looked at him then and smiled, "Right, I always forget you still got family down there. How's everyone?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John tensed, looked away, "Still haven't heard from anyone."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis reached for John's hand, squeezed it, "Things'll work out. I know it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You ready to order?" John asked, pushing away the longing of family from his head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It happened when John was about halfway through his curry. He knew this feeling. The twitchy, jittery, absolutely stomach-dropping, terrified feeling. John quickly shut his eyes and squeezed his fork so hard this nails dug into his palm.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"John?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John heard him. And he would never ignore Francis on any normal occasion. But his mind was a little occupied.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>you'll fucking kill him you'll do it and you know you will because you're a goddamn monster just wait you'll snap eventually look you're not even responding why well because youre too wondering if bleach cleans up all traces of blood what do you think it smells like </em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"<b>John.</b> Are you okay?" Francis' brows sunk so deep his lashes practically touched them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>it's everywhere you’re already holding a fork close enough to a weapon youll do it wont you</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"INeedSomeAir,I'llBeRightBack-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He practically bolted out the door. Somewhere in his lump of jumbled up emotions he felt bad for it. With tearful eyes, John managed to type out a text to Laf</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>J &gt;SOS </b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>L &lt; ?! Where are you</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>J &gt; the thai restaurant on 26 the one we ordered from before</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>L&lt; omw what happened are you okay?</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>J &gt; was out with francis and the thing happened again i can't stay</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>J &gt; eta?</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <b>L &lt; 10 min</b>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John tried to collect himself, wiping damp eyelashes and taking deep breaths, wrapping arms around his under-dressed torso. The restaurant door opened.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"John? What the hell?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He gulped, "Sorry. I really don't feel well. I have a ride coming."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You could have said that!" Francis snapped, mild annoyance riddling his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm sorry. I have cash for the bill-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis face softened, regretting his snap. "No, no I paid it before I came out here. Here's your coat." He says holding out the corduroy bomber to John, an olive branch, a simple connection to bring them back together.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John took it timidly, making sure to avoid his eye. Francis tries to see him, squatting low to make eye contact with him, finally gaining a good look at him. "Oh honey, are you crying? Fuck, you're shaking too. Everything okay?" Francis hands instantly move to hug him, but he stops short, reconsidering.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Jus' needa go lay down." John mumbled, wrestling into his coat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Okay. Do you need anything? I can stop by later with soup or something-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No it's okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis' turn to let out a puffy breath. "Okay... Call me when you get home? Let me know you're okay."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Of course. God, I'm really sorry..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis laid a hand on his face, his thumb coming to rest softly on Johns cheek "Sometimes things suck. 'S okay. Laf picking you up?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John nodded, though he didn't miss the hint of bitterness in Francis' tone when he asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Thankfully Laf's silver BMW pulled in front of them before John had to converse any longer. John felt like he took a refreshing breath for the first time in hours at the sight of the car, a rescue mission. He barely registered someone sitting in the passenger's seat and sat down in the back, seatbelt not even considered, leaning his head on the cool glass of the window. The cool glass helping him stay grounded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Go. Drive. Please."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Everything alright?" Laf asked.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yes! I'm fine, I'll explain I just- Alex?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex waved, seeming equally surprised.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John looked to Laf, who'd pulled back onto the road, "He was at my apartment when you texted. Is that okay?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John swallowed, evaluated,  "No yeah it's all good. Sorry Alex."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"No problem! Everything going well with Francis?" Alex asked, genuinely curious. It was almost endearing.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John nodded, "Yeah, I just uh... I don't feel well." He couldn't help feeling like a liar, though he wasn't exactly lying. The thought gnawed in the back of his head how he basically lied. You shouldn’t lie and look, here he is. Lying. Great.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Laf crooked a brow at him through the rearview mirror. John just shrugged.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you sick?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Something like that..."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Jack?" Alex asked, turning his body back to look at John for the first time. His eyes were lined with worry as he spoke, and waited for a response.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John shied away from his look, turning more towards the door of the car, eyes watching the city fly past them. "Please can we just do this later?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Laf cut in, "Yes we can. Am I bringing you home or to mine?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Yours, if you don't mind."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Of course."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feed me comments.</p><p>Special Thanks to @Broadway_trashdump for their additions/edits. Luv ya darl</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The One at The Cafe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Paninis, almost-fights, and bathroom floors.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Takes place a few weeks-a month after chapter one. </p><p> </p><p>Big TW for this one:<br/>-Intrusive thoughts (violent)<br/>-Panic Attack/Meltdown<br/>-Threats (There's almost a fight in this one, but no one actually gets hurt)<br/>-Cursing </p><p> </p><p>A Note:<br/>While John doesn't particularly struggle with contamination OCD, he is like me in that having certain textures/things on his hands or being in dirty places can be generally triggering. This is explored in this chapter. Just wanted to reiterate that this work is modeled off of many of my struggles and experiences.</p><p> </p><p>ALSO!!</p><p>Big thanks to two people:</p><p><a> @curtainremote </a> for requesting this chapter!! I'm sure this may not be what was expected, but it's here! I had lots of fun (? - there might be a better word... I enjoyed?) writing this chapter.</p><p>Also thank you to <a> @Broadway_trashdump </a> for your excellent edits and words of encouragement. You rock boo!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p>One of the few times the gang really got to sit down with Francis after that was at a random lunch that John dragged him to. It was well known now within their circle that John was headed into a downward spiral. And quick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The little cafe was all pastel tones and quirky decor - neon signs, a whole wall of clocks, quite the Instagram-able little corner. Alex had excused himself to the bathroom just a moment ago, and as the food arrived John couldn't help but long for him. <em>Shit</em> he shouldn't think like that. Francis was here. Francis his <em>boyfriend</em> . Francis his boyfriend who didn't even love him anymore.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John munched on his panini unbothered for a few more moments.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>kill them and yourself you know you want to</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Went tense and choked. <em>God he hated being here</em>. <em>He hated this fucking feeling. Hated these fucking sick thoughts. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He dropped his sandwich onto the plate, pounding his chest as he coughed up half-chewed bread and cheese and pesto. <em>Francis didn't even bother to smack him on the back. Just let him fucking choke. </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Excuse me."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John pushed up from the table, wiping the regurgitated food into a napkin and<em>god his fucking hands were slimy and fuck shit now he's gonna cry because there's SHIT  ON HIS HANDS.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The bathroom was quiet. Must be empty? As John scrubbed the evidence of the bloody image from his hands and mind, Francis burst in, anger simmering off his body in waves.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you fucking serious, John? Can you get it the  fuck together?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm sorry," John responded monotonously, not looking up as he scrubbed each finger of the slime of his half-digested sandwich. He <em>felt</em>  slimy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis snatched him by the shoulder, not with enough force to do much, but John got the message. He turned to look Francis in the eye, shaking his hands free of water. <em>God he was tired of this, too.</em> "You're. Embarrassing. Me. Or do you not even care? Do you not care that you’re fucking embarrassing me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John rolled his eyes, "Frank, Laf and Hercules have been dealing with it a lot longer than you have-" grabbed a paper towel, "It's not new, the only one embarrassing you is yourself."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Francis got in his face, so close John could feel him spitting as he spoke, "Let’s get this through your head, you dense motherfucker-" John's brows shot up, <em>that's new</em>, "I know your little friends might be used to your little... sicko show, alright, but I'm not fucking stupid like them, I’m not gullible, I know this is all bullshit.” He says pushing a finger into Johns chest.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“ You're lucky I even keep you around. You know no one else can love you like I can, or can put up with your bullshit like I can. So suck it up, quit being fucking weird, sit down and eat. I don't want a psycho for a boyfriend. I could do so much better, hear me?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John sighed and rolled his eyes, pressing his thumb between his knuckles, <em>1-2-3-4-5-4-3-</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Do you hear me, bitch?!"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Suddenly, and in quick succession, a loud bang, a <em>pink</em>, and a <em>creeeak</em> as the stall door flew open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>SHIT John had forgotten Alex was even </em> <b> <em>in here</em> </b></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>His face was sharp, his jaw set and eyes narrow and angry.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He comes to stand at John's side, fists clenched at his side.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm gonna give you about two seconds before I rip every  limb off your body, and the muscle after  it."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"The fuck did you just say to me?" Francis spat, standing up straighter, puffing his chest, <em>no Alex is so small please don't-</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Alex stepped closer, "You fucking heard me, you rat faced fuck, one second-"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alex don't-" John begged, words failing him, "It's not- he's not."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm not gonna sit here and let him talk to you like that!! John you are worthy of so much more!!" Alex shouted, eyes glassy, hands shaking with fury.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Please no... I'll just... Let's just go back in, and eat, and let it go. Please."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>A long, long pause. Then Alex charged, but John caught him before he had a change to reach Francis.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Alex!!" John screamed <em>he felt like crying and dying and throwing up and passing out and and and...</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I love you more than this motherfucker could even imagine. I wouldn't <em>do </em> this! He can't <em>do </em> this to you John, <em>please!</em> " Alex begged.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Things were getting too far out of hand and John didn't know what to <em>do</em>. Oh god what is he gonna <em>do? </em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"ENOUGH!!" John screeched, shoving Alex out of his arms and crumbling to the floor. He felt everything <em>everything everything everything </em> bubble to the surface. Every thought. Every goddamn fear and fucking <em>want and need and longing and anxiety </em> overtake him. It swallowed him whole on the linoleum tile and the world went dark as he sobbed. Hands over his ears.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>Forward -one-two-three-back-one-two-three-forward-one-two-three...</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Time lost its meaning. Knew he'd been rocking a while <em>his butt hurt.</em> Vaguely hear sweet, calm voices, soft hands on his knees brought him back to the world. He felt heavy, <em>l e a d, droopy</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"John?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"mmMmm..?" All warbly, scratchy, barely there vocal cords.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Are you back?"</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Mm.." while not quite an affirmative, it gave everyone a bit of relief.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Can you drink some water?" Picked out Laf's accent.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>" 'Kay." World was still dark, didn't open his eyes. Fed a straw. Slow sips.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He slowly uncurled, his whole body barely able to receive signals from an unhelpful brain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Opened his eyes finally. Alex holding his hand. Laf crouched before him. Hercules holding a cup with a purple straw. Francis unsurprisingly absent. Eliza holding his sweater and bag. Peggy leaning against the door.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He regarded each of them with his eyes. Silent fear, terror, worry, anger, in each and every one of them.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Scrubbed his eyes, his face considerably sticky with half-dry tears and snot. <em>Gross.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>More water sips, slowly slid up against the wall to sit up straight. Tried to push the thought of the nasty tile out of his head. Was too tired and dizzy to try and clean himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Everyone was remarkably patient. Kind. Which made him all the more emotional.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I'm. So. Sorry." He croaked, now holding his own cup.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Laf sighed, his head cocked to the side, "Chaton, none of this is your fault," He failed to avert his gaze from Alexander, who was tense with guilt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John frowned, too tired to argue the point.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>"We're ready when you are. You will stay with Hercules and Alex for the time being, but we don't have to leave until you feel well enough to."</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>John nodded.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He felt well enough, it turned out, about 10 minutes later. Dragged his feet past pastel tones, past neon signs and clock walls, abandoned tables and half-eaten paninis and into the spring air.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Sun hot on his skin he felt surprisingly serene. Perhaps it was exhaustion. Or something else. Freedom? From himself, no. But Francis' absence made walking into the light much easier. He would never tell him that.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey! Please leave a comment on this one. I explored something a little different this time and could really use some feedback! Comments are modded, just in case, but I haven't run into any nasty comments that shouldn't be posted. Any comments/questions/concerns/requests/screaming into the void/"Love this"/"Hate This"/4 paragraph analysis (highly encouraged)/etc. STRONGLY ENCOURAGED.</p><p>I really, truly do love hearing from you. It's the best part of writing for y'all. So if you know nothing about OCD and learned something, please share. If you know a lot/have OCD and feel misrepresented/like there's a mistake, please. Share. If you just like to read angst? PLEASE SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS I BEG OF YOU.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed it or have any critiques, suggestions, recommendations, etc. Please, please, please PUHLEASEUH leave a comment! I love hearing from you. However, I will mod comments on this fic for safety/inclusion reasons. But the only reason yours won't be posted on the work is if you say something nasty, which I dno't think will happen, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.</p><p>Remember! This is always a safe space to talk about these things (or anything, for that matter), but If you don't feel comfortable leaving a message in the comments, send me a message on tumblr (@thekookiestkandi) or shoot me an email (sorryapple200404@yahoo.com). </p><p> </p><p>Finally, special thanks to @Broadway_trashdump for their continued love, kindness and support. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Love ya!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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